


Poker and Demons

by commanderlurker (honeybee592)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Demons, First Contact, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/commanderlurker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander James Vega, N7 badass, is sent to investigate an anomaly. Turns out that anomaly is the Iron Bull and James' crew finds themselves making first contact with the galaxy's first Extra Galactic.</p><p>Set post-ME3.</p><p>I've rated this T but it might be more halfway to M for the violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poker and Demons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worstcommander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstcommander/gifts).



> For the 2016 Rare Pair Fest. 
> 
> worstcommander, I'm sorry. The idea took on a life of its own. It wasn't supposed to be this long.

No N7 mission is ever simple. That’s why the N7s are called in. Smart guys who can make snap decisions, neutralize threats, defuse bombs, or check out weird blips. That’s what James’ orders say. “Weird blips.” He’s pretty sure that’s not the technical term but whatever, he has his orders.

He gathers his team, relays the plan.

“We got weird blips coming from Helyme. Yes, Chakrabarti, that’s what we’re calling it. No, it’s not a distress beacon. At least, not a type that’s known. It’s isolated, coming from one spot. Could be a trap but intel thinks not.”

He gets a thrill out of this part, the planning. He runs his ship and crew tight, tighter than Shepard but Shepard’s lessons are never far from his mind. He asks the two kids, both N4s out on field deployment, for their opinions, gets them to think through ideas, pros, cons, consequences. He’s the commander, he’s got final say, but he listens to his crew. Alongside the kids--Chakrabarti and Hasani--he’s got Xiong, the best mechanic and shuttle pilot he’s served with since Esteban, and Varis at the steering wheel.

Xiong’s gonna drop the Ns in a click from the weird blips and keep the motor running in case a quick escape is needed. Varis’ll stay in orbit, keeping the coffee topped up and maybe a thumb on the missile launch buttons. As for Vega, Chakrabarti and Hasani?

“Poke around. That’s your plan, sir?” Hasani’s terrifying when she’s belligerent. James just shrugs, offering her to come up with an alternative. She frowns. “If it is a distress beacon, we should prep the med bay. If it’s hostile, we prep the brig.”

“Ain’t no brig on this bird, Hasani,” Xiong says. Weird, seeing an Asian woman walking and talking like Texan.

Hasani rolls her eyes. “Then clear your shit out from the cargo bay and reinforce it.” She turns to James. “You too, sir. Your gym is a health and safety hazard.”

Sounds like the kids have been learning about preventable accidents, but James acquiesces.

They go back and forth, running over maps until Xiong’s happy with the LZ and the ground team has confirmed what poking around weapons they’re gonna need. Then it’s done. All up to Varis now.

*

The ground’s half terraformed and James’ boots squelch in muddy patches of grass. The planet’s a hot house garden type. Gone funny after its sun got a little too excited and started belching super-heated gas. Still got an atmosphere, oxygen even. Uninhabited for now. The group saw the weird blip as they descended. Green, a bright sickly green, pulsing rhythmically. Now, on the ground, they peer at it from behind cover.

“Ideas?” James asks. He’s got an idea brewing but maybe the kids will argue their way to a better one. Hasani’s got her omni up, running scans. Chakrabarti’s looking at the blip down the scope of his rifle. From here it looks like a hologram, like it’s a projection. It’s see-through and the green flickers through the spectrum. A kind of jagged, spiked trapezoid. Not reaper, thank fuck. And from what little anyone knows about Prothean tech, it’s not that either.

“It’s like some fucked up wormhole,” Chakrabarti says.

“Yes, I agree.” Hasani hasn’t looked up from her omni. “Except wormholes don’t exist. It’s got properties similar to a black hole. Something like a singularity with an event horizon. I can’t get a read of what’s behind that big energy spike in the center. Can’t even get a read on what the energy _is_.”

“I say we lob a grenade at it.” Chakrabarti's lowered his rifle and has a hand on his belt.

Hasani shakes her head. “I say we secure the area and call for backup.”

“No way! We’re Ns! We don’t call for--”

“Wait, you see that?” James holds up his hand and the radio chatter cuts out. “There’s something there, something moved.”

The three fall into formation, James taking point. He’s got his rifle snug against his shoulder and though his heart’s racing, he’s calm, collected. They stalk up, pausing when they detect movement. He’s still not got a good lock on it but Hasani’s saying it’s organic. It’s in the mud at the base of the blip, kinda grey but not like the rocks. More silver. It moves again, slow, like it’s hurt. Two rifles click into place and one biotic shield goes up around the group.

“Drop the shield, Barry. Get ready to put a bubble over it instead.”

Chakrabarti follows orders.

The thing groans. Audibly groans and it sounds so human that shivers go down James’ spine. It lurches and a clearly defined arm stretches out. A massive arm, grey and muscled. A hand with four fingers and a thumb. Even got rings.

What the _fuck_ is that? He doesn’t think he said it out loud, but he must’ve ‘cause he’s got Chakrabarti chattering in his ear.

“Looks like a brute. Looks like a fucking brute!”

James ignores him. “I’m going in. Cover me.” Can’t be a brute. The scans didn’t pick up any reaper tech. His own omni’s telling him it’s definitely one hundred percent organic. He steps forward, careful, quiet. The whole area is cast with a sickly green glow coming from that blip. The thing’s got no ablative armor, nothing matching anything on the Alliance systems though it has what looks like a harness on its right shoulder. And… clown pants? James pauses and really looks. Yeah, they look like clown pants. Dark green with red stripes, wide and floppy, tucked into leather boots. Weapon? Something lies beside the thing. Wooden composition with a metal head. Was that… an axe? A fucking war axe? Like from medieval times? He doesn’t need his omni blaring at him to tell him the thing is injured. Blood oozes from a wound on the left biceps. Not a bullet, not from his guys.

He gets to within two meters of it, holds out his hands, palms up. “Hey, yeah I’m talking to you big guy.” The thing lifts its head and looks up, meeting James with a cold, calculating glare from one eye. It had two, or used to, but the left eye is covered in a fucking eyepatch like a pirate’s. And it has... Horns. Like, cow horns. Big fucking cow horns sticking out the side of its head, but the face, shit. Human, or close enough. James braces himself, ready for any possible response.

“I’m Commander James Vega of the Alliance Navy. You are?”

With great effort, the thing gets onto its hands and knees, then straightens to one knee, leaning on its thigh. It scowls at James again. A garbled, throaty rumble comes out its mouth, guttural like German or Russian but James’ translator’s not helping. It looks like it’s expecting an answer.

“Sorry, hombre. You gotta speak one of the three hundred and thirty five thousand officially recognized languages of the Milky Way if you wanna be underst--”

The thing launches at James. They slam into the ground with a blare of alarms and cool injections of medi-gel shoot through James’ veins. He’s on his front, pinned in what’s a pretty damn good half Nelson face down in the mud, but the thing’s no match for power-assist armor and a good old fashioned omni-blade. James slashes blindly even as he hauls himself up and out of the fucker’s grip. A shot rings out and the thing snarls, then face-plants in the mud. It’s facing James, eye half open in a gross zombie resemblance, mouth working, nostrils flaring. It’s scarred, deeply over its face and forehead. The horns, rough and flakey, protrude from the skull like tree trunks.

“Commander. Commander Vega.”

James shakes his head and sits up, waves away the worry. He’s fine, but he doesn’t know if the thing is.

“Tell me that shot wasn’t fatal,” he says.

“No sir.” Hasani. Cool, calm Hasani. “Concussive round, sir. Knocked it out.”

James satisfies himself with Hasani’s report. No life threatening injuries. Just the wound on the arm, a bruise on the chest from the concussive round, and long term muscle damage in and around the right shoulder and right ankle. He slaps some medi-gel on the wounds.

“Let’s get this fucker on a stretcher and bug out.”

While Xiong zips over, his team cautiously approaches the thing. “What the fuck is it, Commander?” Chakrabarti nudges it with his boot. “Not like anything I ever seen.”

Hasani looks up from her omni. “Some kind of turian I’d guess, but no. Bloods aren’t right.” She tutts, frowning as she scrolls through readouts James can’t comprehend. She speaks the same time as James’ dawning realization. “Could be a new species, sir.”

“First contact,” James mutters.

Hasani nods.

Great. Just fucking great. The paperwork alone will keep him out of action for months. First in Vancouver, then on the Citadel. “No one say a fucking thing about this, okay? We get it into the med bay and figure out what we’re dealing with before shooting our mouths off to brass, got it?” He receives a round of lackluster nods. “I said, no comms. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.”

That’s better. The shuttle hovers and he helps haul the thing onto a stretcher and onto the floor of the shuttle. He slumps on the bench, his team opposite him with the thing between them. He stares at it and is suddenly tired. Popping the seals on his helmet is an effort and he’s rewarded with stale shuttle air. Fucking weird ass blip. Fucking weird ass monster, more like. It’s gotta be two point five meters tall. At least one point five wide. And ripped. Like, seriously ripped. James Vega ripped. Except for the gut but even then James knows there’s a slab of muscle under the fat. He thinks he’s gonna ask it what its workout regime is as he wipes his forehead. Wonder how much protein it’s gotta chug, what its sets are like and whether it’s got gene mods. Then he laughs. Out loud.

“Commander?”

He shakes his head, still grinning. “Fucking first contact,” he says. “We’re fucked.”

*

All five of them cram into the _Vespa’s_ tiny med bay. Silence but for the wheeze and beep of scanners and tools. The thing’s lying face up on a bed, completely strapped down. He’s in a gown now, one of those hospital style ones. It’s a bit tight. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination. And he’s definitely a he. Once they’d stretchered him on board, James and Hasani had stripped him, checking his wounds and confiscating his weapons. And he is a he because, well… he’s packing quite the armory. That wasn’t the only fascinating thing about him. His pockets were like digging out a pharaoh's tomb: five daggers simple and unadorned--and fucking sharp; glass vials with gross smelling red liquid, viscous like blood; three pies, a fruit that looked like an apple; bits of leather and string, chunks of rock and stones; and a carved stone dog that looked like a cross between a Rottweiler and a Pitbull.

So they're all standing around, looking at the guy. Varis tests the restraints. James’ isn’t taking any chances. None of them want to touch him, not even Hasani, usually so curious. Even as she’d been working on the wounds she’d been reluctant to touch him. He looks freakishly human under the harsh white lights, though there’s difference enough to make him look like some unlicensed gene-mod experiment. He’s not though. Bloods and tissue analysis confirm what they already thought: he’s not from this galaxy. Levo though, so maybe he won’t starve. DNA’s still whirring away in a machine in the corner.

“What do we do now, Commander?”

James has no fucking idea. Nothing in all his grueling, arduous, tortuous years of N training prepared him for something like this. He sighs, staring at the thing unblinking.

“Now we call for backup.”

*

He’s got no idea what he’s gonna say when he has Varis patch him through to HQ. He’s still in shock, he realizes. He hasn’t showered or eaten. Hasn’t even dropped his armor.

The connection clicks and his superior officer--to all the N7s, not just James--fuzzes into view. Damn sexy, badass in her own right, but she’s got nothing on Shepard.

“Vega, sitrep.” Captain Lee Riley, straight shooter.

“FUBAR ma’am.” He wipes his brow and forces himself not to slump.

“Casualties?”

“None.”

“Then it’s not fucked up beyond all recognition, is it, Vega?” There’s a tease in Riley's voice. Thank fuck for being cut some slack. “It’s just situation normal.”

James pulls a deep breath, filing his lungs. He lets it out slow, along with his words. “I think we made first contact, ma’am.”

Riley’s silent. The whole comm room is silent but blood roars through James’ ears. There. He’s said it. All out of his hands now. He feels lighter. He’s absolved himself of the responsibility. He just has to take orders now.

“That’s what the weird blip is?” She leans forward, speaks low like she’s being furtive, hiding from wagging ears.

“Yeah, kinda.” James explains the whole mission. The green, almost-black hole, the thing, its clothes, its weapon, the sounds it made, the fight. He explains it all logically, chronologically, replaying the events in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t skip a beat. He’s too good for that.

“Fuck.” It’s a whisper. James has nothing more to say so he waits while Riley’s demeanor goes through its own five stages of disbelief. She forces her face back into command mode. “What’s the status of the blip?”

“Still there, ma’am.” He’d looked out the cockpit window just before, saw it pulsing away.

She ascertains that no one shot at it, no one touched it, no one so much as expelled excess CO2 in its very vicinity. Then she says what James has been desperate to hear.

“Remain in orbit. Do not approach the blip. We’re coming out there.”

James doesn’t allow himself the luxury of collapsing until Riley’s signed off. He leans against the comms bench with both hands, locks his elbows to take his weight. He breathes, counts to ten. To twenty. To fifty. He’s got this. He’s got orders. He’s got a good crew. The best crew. And he’s got to get some fucking food into him. Priority mission: sausage and mash MRE.

*

Shouldn’t keep him in the med bay. Not secure enough. The crew bitch and moan as they wheel the bed through the ship and angle it through the airlock to set him up in the cargo bay. Means they can’t use the shuttle while he’s there but that’s the least of James’ concerns. Right now, he’s got to keep four highly focused, highly driven individuals from going stir crazy while they wait for backup.

*

The thing wakes up.

He tries to move but can’t. This pisses him off. He strains and roars and for a moment James thinks he’ll bust the straps. But these are military grade, fit for holding down a krogan. This guy is big, but not krogan big.

James orders Chakrabarti into the cargo bay with him. Biotic backup. James goes in wearing his BDUs to be as non-threatening as possible. Chakrabarti refuses and wears full armor.

He makes sure the thing can see him. He’s wild eyed, chest heaving, jaw clenched and frothing at the mouth. James makes placating noises and gestures. He offers the thing a glass of water, with a straw. He takes it. Drinks the whole lot.

He points to himself. “Me. James.” He repeats it, smiling, until the thing nods his head and James thinks he’s got it. He points to it. “You?”

Weird guttural noises again. A throat full of stones He repeats the sound--clearly the same sound.

“Graava? Graava. Yeah? I got that right?”

The thing looks condescending and James burns for having gotten the pronunciation of this fucking alien’s name wrong.

He offers more water, then says he’s gonna undo some of the straps. Chakrabarti tells him this is a bad idea. James tells him to be ready. He explains to Graava what’s going to happen, points to Chakrabarti and explains what’ll happen if he pisses him off. Chakrabarti's got a biotic bubble up, just a small one, a demonstration, and Graava tenses, fists clenched, knuckles white. The tendons in his neck pop and again James is drawn to his physique. He gets Chakrabarti to drop the biotics and though Graava’s still eyeing Chakrabarti, he’s not so freaked.

James loosens him. Just a couple of straps for one arm to be free. Graava behaves, flexes his arm and shakes out his hand. He’s missing the halves of two fingers. Stumps. Clear cuts. James points out the salient features of the cargo bay confinement area. The impromptu head, the bucket of water for washing. There’s a pile of clothes on the floor for him. Biggest pants and shirt Hasani could find. Graava makes gestures for his things, mimes the knives and little vials and pies. James says he can’t have them, but they’re safe. Yeah, safe up in the med bay where Hasani’s busy extracting all the info she can from the vials and food, running scans on the stones. She’s happier up there, away from the alien and that works for James.

Finally, James reveals a tray of food. Doesn’t look all that great. Hard trying to plate up MREs to restaurant standards but he did his best to make the meal look like real food, like something anyone could identify. Graava eyes the tray suspiciously, poking the mash with a fork before handing it to James.

“You want me to eat it?” Oh, yeah, he sees how it is. This thing’s smart. Poison. James shrugs. “Yeah, sure, any excuse for a feed.” He starts shoveling flaky mash and grey broccoli into his mouth. Grabs the knife and cuts up the chicken.

Graava grunts, catching James’ attention. He points to the food, then himself, and James laughs. He’s scoffing the meal, he sees that now. He passes the fork back over and sits with Graava as he loads up his fork and puts the food away. James looks him over, realizes that one tiny meal isn’t going to be enough. He’ll have to up the rations.

Graava puts the fork down, licks the plate, then sits back, pats his ample belly and then belches. He sighs, content, even puts one arm behind his head to get real comfortable. James laughs. He undoes all the straps, too.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Graava. You like jelly and ice cream? Fuck, everyone likes jelly and ice cream.”

Chakrabarti follows him out, and when James returns, he goes alone. Graava’s got the pants on but the shirt?

“Fuck man,” James says between coughing laughs. “Didn’t think about the horns. Sorry.”

Graava’s got this look on his face like this isn’t the first time he’s lost a battle with a shirt. As James takes the stretched and ripped tee, he has a moment of affinity with the guy. And the tee.

*

James sets up a guard rotation even though Graava’s made no violent moves. It’s a boring detail. Graava doesn’t talk. He just watches. Xiong plays solitaire. Chakrabarti plays games on his omni. Hasani reads. James tries to talk to the guy but gives up and works out. Now there’s a universal language: press ups. James is getting into a good rhythm when he hears Graava thump down beside him. He looks to his side, sees Graava matching him push for push.

They go through James’ whole set, minus the weights that Hasani ordered him to put away, and Graava’s grinning with James at the end of it. Both of them slump against the wall, slurping water, and James feels like he’s made a friend.

*

James tries  his luck at conversation again.

“You kinda look like a bull.” He makes horns out of his fingers and moos.

Graava nods enthusiastically and copies the gesture. “Graava,” he says.

“Shit, Graava means ‘bull’ in your language?”

“Moooooo.” Graava points to himself, says his name. Points to James, says James’ name.

“Bull,” James says.

“Bull,” Graava repeats. Slow, rumbly and rough. “Bull.”

“Shit, well welcome aboard, Bull.”

They shake on it.

*

James is in the cockpit going over readouts from the blip with Varis when Xiong calls over the comm.

“Our alien friend stole my cards,” she drawls. “I wanna new set.”

“What do you mean, ‘stolen your cards’?”

Varis has the feed up before James has finished asking the question. Bull’s there, playing solitaire, and doing pretty well from the looks of it.

“Asshole,” Xiong says.

James laughs and promises her a new pack of cards.

*

Hasani creeps out of the med bay and down to the cargo bay. She teaches Bull chess on a holo board. James watches as Bull fingers the pieces, curious, suspicious. But once he seems content that the pieces aren’t magic, he gets the hang of it. He loses the first three games and checkmates her on the fourth.

“ _Asshole!_ ” she says.

*

After a conference with the crew, they agree to let him out of the cargo bay. James slips an omni over Bull’s wrist, shows him which doors it’ll open. Cargo bay and lift to mess. That’s it. No cockpit, med bay or armory access.

Bull seems to enjoy his freedom. He spends most of his time in the mess, playing chess when Hasani’s not wary of him, and cards when she is.

He watches them cook, eats with them. He’s clearly not impressed with the food and after one lackluster meal too many, he cooks up dessert. James has never had a rice pudding quite like that. None of them have. They all go back for seconds and are sad when they can’t go back for thirds.

*

James watches Bull over security when he’s in his cargo bay cot. He’s mouthing words, silent, lips and tongue wrapping their way around. He’s rubbing his head, frustrated. He takes off the eye patch and scrubs his face. Does reps like James. James feels for him. Wishes he could talk to him.

*

Poker night. Bull turns up. They make room for him and he just watches the first couple rounds, shaking his head whenever James offers to deal him in. Then he nods and James flicks him his two cards. He picks up the rules as James explains them. Gets damn good, too. He’s got the social cues down, can read the crew’s body language. Knows when to laugh, can join in even if doesn’t speak the language. James suspects that works in his favor, the language barrier. He pays attention, watches and listens. It’s probably why he’s so shit hot: can read everyone’s tells.

They’re just playing for fun, chips with no value. Some rules James is willing to break, but not this one. No betting your pay on duty. Save it for shore leave. Sore losers make for crap squad mates. It’s fun, anyway. Let’s you take risks, experiment. Gets the crew a laugh when you bet your max with only a pair of threes in your hand.

Right now Bull and James are engaged in a two way battle, the others all cashed out or folded. The river comes out and inside, James buzzes, fizzes like a live grenade. He raises, goes big, he’s playing for real now. With that last card, he’s got a good hand. A fucking good hand. Only one hand better than this and there’s no way Bull can have it. Bull meets James’ raise with a tilt of his head and a thoughtful hum. He counts out his chips, one by one. They click against each other, ten, twenty, thirty, all the way up to one-twenty. He pushes his chips forward with his massive hand, adding to the pile in the middle of the table.

Chakrabarti thumps the table. “He’s bringing it, Commander. He’s gonna kick your ass! Shit, he’s gonna fuck you right up!”

Bull grins at Chakrabarti like he knows what the LT is saying, laughs with the others. He’s sitting back, all smug, shoulders loose, drumming his fingers on the table, cards face down in front of him. His stare pierces James, equal parts challenge and glee. James sits back too, casually cocky. Like this upstart new guy’s gonna get the jump on James Vega. Not a chance. They stare each other down, narrowing their eyes and widening their grins. Then Bull says something that throws James off balance.

“Show.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. It’s what they gotta do next, show their cards, but it’s that he said it at all that has James spinning and twisting in free fall. He’s not the only one affected. The whole table’s gone dead. Breaths caught and eyes wide. But they may as well not exist. James’ world, vision, telescopes to just him and the big, cow-horned alien sitting opposite.

James gulps and because his balls have sounded the retreat, he complies with his aggressor's demand. His hand doesn’t tremble--thank fuck, but he’s broken out in a sweat, beads collecting on his forehead, his hair line. Palms clammy. He’s gonna soak the cards at this rate. Better lay them out. King and Ace of Diamonds. With the King of Clubs, King of Spades, Ace of Hearts, 9 of Spaces and Jack of Spades already on the table, he’s got a full house. Seeing it laid out like that, the red diamonds stark against crisp white, his confidence comes back. He’s got it, he has to have it. Right? But Bull’s still grinning and hasn’t taken his eyes off James to even see what he’s got.

Anyway, Bull would have to have… a 10 of Spades. Shit, that’s what he lays down. Fuck. _Fuck_. Sweat runs down his temple and he fights the urge to wipe it away with his fist. A gasp goes around the table and James knows he’s not the only one holding his breath over a pot of fake money. Honor is at stake. Pride. And that’s worth more than creds. From Bull’s low chuckle, James knows he’s done. He knows what Bull’s last card is and--he’s okay with it. A calm peace falls over him. He did good, he did his best, and even if loses, he can be proud of that much at least. That’s what Shepard beat into him way back and it’s a lesson James has remembered. So when Bull nails his Queen of Spades into the straight flush coffin and the table erupts in cheers and whoops and hoo-raas, James shakes his head in disbelief.

Chakrabarti shoves his shoulder and James takes his ribbing like a champ. He’s no sore loser. He can appreciate when he’s been bested. Bull’s laughing, deep and rough as he wraps his arms around the stack of chips and drags them to his chest like he’s watched too many casino heist movies. But he hasn’t. Hasn’t seen a damn movie ever. Doubt he even knows what a movie is.

James stands, his chair scraping against the metallic floor and holds his hand out for Bull. Bull follows his lead and takes James’ hand in his, engulfing it. He’s hot, strong, dry and calloused.

“Nice hand, my friend,” James says.

Bull nods once. “Well played.”

From the chatter and scraping of chairs from the crew, the game is done. Chakrabarti packing away his paltry collection of chips, Hasani at the coffee machine. Varis makes his escape back to the cockpit. But James is locked in place, hand still clasped against Bull’s. He can’t tell if the guy’s picking up the language or of he’s just memorized the right sounds. It’s creepy, when Bull speaks. Makes James think all sorts of shit that’s well about his pay grade. Shit like how humans aren’t alone out there, haven’t been for years now sure, but all the intelligent species, they’ve been found, right? All the ones that’ve dragged their asses out of their planet’s primordial soup? Fuck, about every damn planet must’ve been scanned in the entire Milky Way. Even the sword wavers who haven’t built rockets yet have been counted and categorized by the Council. But this guy? This fucking cow-man with the leathery grey skin who stands two heads taller than James--and James is tall no doubting that--with his horns and the elf ears and the musculature that’s so fucking human? That freaks James right out. If only he could just ask where Bull came from and get a straight answer. He’s a fucking smart one, James knows that much. And he’s pretty sure he’s the only one of his kind in the whole fucking galaxy.

*

James’ developing a soft spot Bull. Ah, who’s he kidding. He’s got a crush as well as massive respect. Can’t be easy being this far from home, surrounded by people who don’t speak his language, don’t wear the same clothes, don’t have anything in common. James doesn’t want to lead him to slaughter, doesn’t want to leave him at the mercy of Alliance tech and med nerds who’re just gonna prod and poke at him. He wants to give him some defenses, a way to fight back that won’t lead to him being tranqued and strapped down like a psycho. So James heads down to the cargo bay and gives him a data pad loaded with a bunch of language learning programs.

He sits next to Bull and shows him how to use it while trying not to treat him like an idiot when he’s so clearly not.

“You gotta learn English if you’re gonna hang round,” he says. Then, “Wait, shit. Lemme--let me start again. You have to learn English if you are going to be living here.” Felt weird talking all formal, getting the words in the right order and pronouncing them right. Correct. Correctly. _Fuck_.

He shows Bull the power button, points at the home screen. “Start with this one. It’s like, nouns or some shit. Basic things. You. Me. Table. Chair.” Sure enough, jingly music starts up and a happy voice starts reciting words as they light up, along with a picture of the thing.

Bull glares sidelong at James and speaks above the tune. “You. Commander James Vega. He,” he points forward, toward the cockpit, “Flight Lieutenant Nikoli Varis.” He mimes shuffling cards--which has James’ face heat up sun-hot till he realizes what Bull is doing. “Poker. Chips. Flop. Turn. River. Ante. Raise. Show me the money!” Then he makes a similar gesture, closer to what James’ had originally thought. “Lieutenant Barry Chakrabarti.”

James laughs. “Barry’s his nickname. His first name is Chander. But yeah, I know what you mean. He can be dick. But he’s a good guy.”

Bull nods, then shoves his chair back and lists all the shit in the cargo bay. Then he lists all the shit from the mess. He turns to James and totally deadpan, says, “I’m no fucking bald-ass baby, sir,” in the exact way Chakrabarti does when James questions his understanding of an order.

James snaps his mouth closed and loads a new program. “Okay. Right. We’ll skip the nouns and go straight to asking shit like ‘how much is the beer?’”

When it’s clear Bull’s gonna have a better grip on grammar and verbs than James, James leaves him to it. He wanders through to the mess, where Varis and Xiong are shooting the breeze and drinking coffee. James pours his own mug and joins them, half listening but mostly he’s thinking about Bull. Maybe he’s done too much, teaching Bull poker and English. Not that he really did any teaching. The guy picked the poker up all on his own. But how else was he supposed to do first contact? Keep the alien locked up and sedated for the whole fucking trip? Fuck that.

“I kinda want to bang him.”

James’ ears prick up and he gives Xiong a casual glance as she continues to describe her ultimate sexual fantasy with Bull.

“Like, I’ve always wanted to do that, you know? Fuck an alien.”

“You never heard of turians?” Varis asks.

Xiong rolls her eyes. “Been there, done that, got the scars to prove it. That guy though? He’s exotic. One of a kind. And he looks like a good fuck, too. All that raw, untamed power. Makes me wet just thinking about it.”

James fights the urge to butt in and say that the guy they’re talking about isn’t an object. He’s got a name, he has feelings and emotions and he’s really fucking smart. Smarter than this whole crew, probably. But he keeps his trap shut, chucks back the rest of his coffee and heads to his cabin to lift weights.

*

Bull picks up the language quick. He talks with whoever he can, whenever he can. Reads as much as he can. He plays chess with Hasani, asks her why she makes the moves she does. Hasani warms to him too and James catches snippets of conversation, talk of homes. At one point Bull asks Chakrabarti if he was born with that stick up his ass or if he shoved it up there himself. James steps in before a fight starts and Bull just laughs at Chakrabarti’s red face.

He’s fascinated by the smallest shit, stuff that James--the galaxy--takes for granted. Like comms. The radio holds his attention for hours, his questions going more in depth than James can answer.

“So you’re telling me that sound travels in waves and you got these boxes that pick up those waves and lets you hear whatever you want?”

“Uh, yeah, basically. Kinda.”

Bull strokes his chin. “That’s fuckin’ weird,” he mutters. “Imagine the possibilities though…”

Shit, communication systems have nothing on holos. Bull’s eye all but pops out his head when James shows him holos on his omni, then the camera itself. He takes a holo of Bull then shows him.

“You just click and it captures the image? I gotta get me one of those.”

“What do you use back home?” Dumb question, James knows, but he’s asked it now.

“Pencils. Ink. Paint. What you’d call ‘old school’. Takes fuckin’ ages.”

James grunts. “I’ll bet.” He can't imagine living off grid. No tech, no mass effect fields, no space travel. No extranet. He can’t imagine the cognitive dissonance Bull must be going through but he’s doing a damn good job of holding it all together. James isn’t sure he’d be coping quite so well in the same position.

After they’re done pulling faces and taking a bunch of holos, he loads up Blasto. “You think holos are awesome? This is gonna blow your mind.”

*

Report comes in from command. They’re still five days out. James whistles when he sees just what the Alliance is hauling out here. Dreadnought and a fleet of frigates. Holy crap. Fuck knows how they’re hiding this shit from the rest of the galaxy. They’re way past boundaries of Alliance colonies and to do anything remotely military based would need council sign off.

Hasani tuts as she reads the report on her own omni. “Think they could make this more obvious?”

James makes a noncommittal grunt. He’s more concerned about the time. He’s got five days to learn as much about Bull as he can before he’s taken away.

He hunts Bull out, finds him reading on his cargo bay cot.

“Hey, Boss,” Bull says. “What can I do for you?”

James’ stomach does a little flip-flop but he gathers himself and pulls up a chair.

“Alliance’ll be here soon. They’re gonna be asking questions. Lots of questions. But I wanna get in first. I… I don’t know anything about you. You’re a bull-man called Bull and you fell through a green-blackhole. What’s your deal?”

Bull puts down the data pad and leans back. “My deal, huh?”

James fidgets. “Yeah, how about we start with those things that were in your pockets, the vials and shit. What are they?” James’d given him everything back, even the daggers, figuring if Bull really wanted to kill them all, he wouldn’t be held back by a lack of daggers. Bull had put them all in his discarded clown pants at the side of his cot.

“Well, the daggers are daggers and the pies were pies.”

“Were?”

“I ate them.” Bull looks a little sheepish, then he digs around in the pants and pulls out half a pie. “Almost all of them. You want some?”

He proffers a half-eaten pie, crumbling and jelly-like in his massive hand. James isn’t sure. What if his body’s not compatible? What if he gets sick? But Bull’s been eating their food and he seems fine. James shrugs. “Why the hell not,” he says to himself as he takes the pie.

It’s flaky and chewy. Kinda meaty, like game. Not bad. But not great, either. Bull goes through the rest of his possessions as James eats. The vials are healing potions--Hasani had already taken samples and was fucking excited when she ran them through the scanners. The stones and rocks are just little things he’s picked up on his travels, pretty trinkets, really.

“And the dog?” James asks around a mouthful of pie.

“This?” Bull holds up the stone-carved dog. “It’s a mabari. A war hound. They’re smart. They can follow orders as good as any soldier.” Then after a pause, “I carved this myself.”

James’ mouth hangs open. “Really? You made it?”

“Yeah, in camp one night. Something to pass the time.”

“It’s fuckin’ awesome,” James says.

Bull smiles, looking over his handiwork.

James finishes his pie and wipes his hands on his pants. “So you camp a lot? Like in the open? Just you or…”

Bull sighs. “You want the whole story, huh? Guess I’ll start with where I’m from.” He’s from Thedas. That’s the known world. He doesn’t know if it’s a planet. No one’s charted the whole thing. His country of birth is Par Vollen. It’s hot and dry, except when it rains. Then it’s hot and wet. He hasn’t been back for years. These days he’s down south, commanding a mercenary band.

“You’re a commander?” James asks.

“Yeah. Kinda similar to how you guys work. I got my team. Keep it nice and small. I like to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, who’s sleeping with who, that sort of thing. Makes making decisions easier. I usually take one-off contracts but right now I’m signed up with a quasi-military religious group called the Inquisition. It’s complicated.”

But he explains it to James, tells him about the hole in the sky--the breach--and the demons and the rifts. So that weird blip, it’s called a rift. Huh.

Bull says he’s a qunari. They all look like him--mostly. Horns differ and those without horns are considered extra special, like they’re destined for greatness. James thinks it should be the other way around: the bigger the horns, the greater you are, but he doesn’t say anything. He just listens. The most populous species in Thedas are people similar enough to James’ crew that Bull calls them human. Elves, yeah, elves with the pointy ears--just don’t call them that or they’ll shiv you. Dwarves as well. James shows Bull a holo of Earth’s dwarves but Bull shakes his head and explains the differences.

“Then there’s magic.” He sighs, resigned, like he’s just stepped in dog shit. “Your guy, Barry? That blue crap he does with his hands? That’s like our magic. Or, as close as I can make out, anyway. You call people who have this skill ‘biotics’. We call ours ‘wizards’, or that’s the closest word I can think of.”

James laughs. “Wizards? Like with pointy hats and robes and wands?”

“Yeah,” Bull says, looking at James like what he’s said is obvious and not funny at all.

By the time Bull’s talked himself out, James has a headache. He’s overwhelmed by what he’s been told. Too much, too soon. Makes him think hard thoughts again. Could Bull be from a parallel universe? Or from another galaxy? This shit’s all way about his pay grade and for a moment he’s relieved that it’ll be someone else’s job to figure all that out.

“This was good, Boss,” Bull says as James goes to leave. “We should do this again some time. With drinks.”

*

Blasto XV: AI Uprise. James missed it when it came out so he’s got it screening now. They’re in the cargo bay, movie projected on the wall, eating popcorn, real popcorn and James is laughing along with Bull squished up next to him, bowl teetering between the two of them. Chakrabarti’s on his other side snorting and hollering. They’re just getting up to the good bit, where Blasto’s got the bad guy cornered and he’s gonna deliver a deadpan one liner, when the comms click and Varis speaks up.

“Uh, Commander? You might want to see what I’m seeing.”

The screen flicks from Blasto to the planet they’re orbiting. The blip or rift or whatever it’s called is there, in the center, pulsing green and sharp but that’s not what’s got Varis’ attention. Things. On the surface. Walking.

“What the fuck?”

The screen is huge, making the monsters huge. They’re unreal.

“Demons,” Bull mutters. “It had to be demons.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chakrabarti mutters. He’s staring at the screen like he’s witnessing the coming of the apocalypse.

Hasani and Xiong fly into the bay, ready for orders.

Bull stands, slow, reluctant. He wanders through the cargo bay and finds his axe. “Spose we better go deal with them.”

James is on his feet now too, but he’s not gunning for action stations. “We are not going out there. We sit tight, keep a lock on them.”

“They’re _demons_. We have to _kill_ them.” Bull sounds wounded, looks it too.

James stands firm. “In our galaxy, demons don’t exist. As far as I’m concerned, those things out there are aliens--like you--and we will maintain in a defensive position until the Alliance arrives or we need to go offensive. Understood?” He puffs out his chest and draws himself up to full height. Not much of an intimidation technique against someone as big as Bull.

“Defensive, huh? Like how you pointed that gun in my face?” Bull says.

“You attacked me first!”

“You… you looked weird!”

James bursts out laughing. He looked weird? ‘Spose that’s right given that Bull’d fallen into another dimension. Then Bull laughs and the tension’s gone.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, thanks for not killing me.” Bull claps James on the arm and the pair share a smile.

Then James is back to business. His crew don’t look relieved or content and Hasani’s eyebrows are angled in such a way that means she’s considering her words. Chakrabarti stares at the screen lips moving as he makes the sign of the cross. Xiong shrugs and heads back to the armory with a wary glance.

“Varis,” James calls. “Keep us geosynchronous and set up whatever monitoring you can think of.” He turns to Bull. “You up for running a lecture on demonology?”

Bull’s hand clenches around his axe and he lets out a grudging, “I suppose so.”

*

Apart from the horns and the bare chest, James could be listening to his pastor back in California delivering a sermon straight from the Book of Revelations. Bull bellows with the same righteous indignation as Pastor Hernandez, spouting warnings about the dangers of complacency and laziness. James catches the _Amen_ before it escapes his throat. Chakrabarti though, he keeps crossing himself and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together like he’s counting a rosary.

From what Bull’s saying, the general taxonomy of Thedas’ demons sounds similar to Pastor Hernandez’s recounting of the seven deadly sins. Funny how concepts like that have managed to span galaxies. Still, it’s enough to send chills down James’ spine.

“That big one we saw? That’s the one you really have to watch for. It’s a pride demon. They’re strong and insidious. They laugh and cajole you. They play on your pride and use it against you. That’s what demons do, they play on you, trick you. They want to possess you and they know your weaknesses. This guy? This guy will keep you on your toes. _Now_ do you see why we need to go deal with them?” Bull’s caught between pleading and frustration.

James crosses his arms and stares into the middle distance, the picture of a rugged philosopher. Really he’s giving the kids a chance to ask questions, swap ideas. He has half a mind to let him go deal with the demons himself, but there’re too many and anyway, Alliance’ll have his balls if anything happens to Bull.

Hasani asks most of the questions and they’re deep, really complex. Bull scratches his chin and says he can’t answer her. “I’m not a wizard. Qunari mostly keep away from magic. It’s… dangerous. Demons and shit. They get in your head...” He sounds frustrated that he can’t answer Hasani.

James takes one last look at the screen before they wrap up their lecture. The demons prowl and flicker. One rears its head back, mouth wide, and James thinks he can hear it scream.

*

As a commander, James does more than just give orders and write reports. He’s gotta look after his crew, do pastoral care. There was a whole six week block of classes when he got promoted, all about psychology and stress and boredom, learning when to a mother hen and when to be a ball-breaker. The whole time he kept remembering moments from his past, moments when both Captain Toni and Commander Shepard had been father or mother, uncle or aunt to James. They’d been the best and their lessons stick with him more than the block class. It’s their guidance James thinks about as he wanders through the ship to find Chakrabarti. The guy’s in need of… something. A fight, maybe. Or maybe just some good advice from a grizzled old soldier. Man to man.

He’s almost at the mess when the ship shudders. Not a hole ripped in the hull, nothing as serious as that. More the shiver of someone walking over your grave. But that’s loco. Ships don’t have superstitions.

The ship shudders again and this time the power goes out. Red emergency lights kick in.

“Varis,” James calls over his omni. Just crackle back. _Shit. Fuck._ He cycles through the rest of his crew but gets no response.

A howling shriek cracks through the ship, raising goose bumps over James’ skin. Instinct kicks in and he sprints towards the sound. Human yells mix with the shriek. Hasani, Varis. Cockpit, then. James rounds the bridge and stops dead in his tracks all for a second. Just enough time to see a tall, lanky, thing, green and bendy waving its arms. James grabs the nearest object he can weaponized and charges forward.

“Hey, fucker, over here.”

It turns and holy hell, it’s got too many eyes. Buggy spider eyes that make James gag even as he swings the fire extinguisher at its body. The extinguisher meets torso and the momentum slows too fast, recoil jerking up James’s arm. Like punching water. The demon flickers, screeching staccato, goes to take a swipe at James and then it’s gone all together. Just winks out of existence.

“What the--” James looks to Varis and Hasani. “You guys okay?”

Varis nods them promptly chucks up. Hasani reaches for the seat and collapses into it.

“It… it came through! I didn’t think…” she starts, but her attention’s caught by Xiong and Chakrabarti in the bridge, pistols and biotics primed.

Bull wanders up with a swagger that’d be annoying if it was anyone else.

“What happened?” James asks.

He gets the story from Hasani and Varis dribs and drabs. Interference coming in pulses that matched the rift. Power surges and static. The demons were dancing around and then, boom, one popped up right in the cockpit. James orders Varis take the ship out another half click.

“ _Now_ , can we go kill the demons?” Bull asks.

James sighs and flicks his head toward the cargo bay.

*

Cargo bay’s tense as James, Chakrabarti and Hasani suit up. Xiong readies the shuttle.

“You sure you want to come with us?” James asks Bull.

Bull snorts. “Shit, yeah! I haven’t hit anything for a while and I _really_ need to hit something. Plus, I got a demon slaying rune on this axe.” He runs his finger over the blades of the axe, gets a couple of practice swings in. James tries to avoid being impressed and turned on by the way Bull’s muscles bulge, the way his hands grip the wooden shaft, fingers curling, specifically placed to balance and heft the weight, but he fails. He swallows--hard--then returns to suiting up.

“You got a plan, Commander?” Hasani asks. She’s ready, helmet clipped to her side along with her usual array of pistols and drone capsules.

“Ask this guy.”

Bull grins, wide and toothy before settling into serious again.

“I’m not going to sugar coat it. It’ll be tough. They’ll get into your mind, try to manipulate you. You’ll like what you hear and you’ll want to do they say. Don’t. Shut it out. Just keep hitting.”

“That’s it? That’s our plan. Go out there and hit them till they die?” Chakrabarti scoffs and scowls at James. “Sir, with all due respect, I say we get Varis to open up the big guns.”

“No.” Hasani. “We go down there and we--”

“Hasani, I swear to God, if you say ‘scan them’ I’m gonna--”

“Shut the fuck up,” James bellows. “You guys all losing your god-damned minds over an unknown enemy? How’d you manage to survive the reapers, huh? You get this far down the Ns by running around like headless chickens? We got a resident expert on these things so we’re gonna sit down, shut up, and listen, okay?” He takes the lead, sitting right on the floor. Hasani, Chakrabarti, even Xiong follow, all staring up at Bull, the guy who comes from the same place as those _things_.

Bull clears his throat almost apologetically. “Yeah, so, we hit them till they screech and kinda… fizzle out. That’s it really.”

The group stare at him, silent, mouths slack.

He puts his finger up. “We still need a plan or we’ll get overrun and covered in demon ichor and that crap’s gross.”

Bull assigns targets and tactics then the group break apart and go through their own pre-battle rituals. Xiong does her pre-flight checks on the shuttle. Chakrabarti’s checking over his Phalanx and wiggling his fingers in that way biotics do, reciting mnemonics or whatever. Hasani’s fussing over Bull, setting him up with a comm unit. They make a couple of check-checks and James smiles at Bull’s glee. He’s clearly not worried about going into battle wearing only pants and that makes James feel overdressed in his top-of-the-line armor and military grade HUD. Maybe Bull’s underestimated these demons. Maybe this’ll be a walk in the park for guys as prepped as Ns.

Final checks and a “don’t get possessed” from Varis, they bundle into the shuttle and Xiong speeds them out and down.

*

The ground is soft and muddy, just like when they first touched down. James imagines the smell of fresh grass waving in the wind but imagining’s all he can do with his helmet on. A pang of homesickness hits him but he swallows it down and focuses on the demons. The fucking demons. They don’t look like any of the old paintings in James’ childhood church. Those ones were little grey devils with bulging eyes and forked tongues. These ones are horrific, nightmares come to life.  They’re ethereal and green, floating and shrieking. They sound distressed and confused, like they’re in the wrong place. One of them flies in tight circles around the rift, passing right through it, leaving a noxious trail of demon dust behind it.

James gathers his squad before they lose their adrenaline high. “Situation hasn’t changed. Hasani and Chakrabarti, you’re on crowd control. Keep them entertained. Bull, you and I’ve got that big bastard. We charge in and create--”

“ _Mayhem!”_

“Yeah, that’s it.” James laughs.

And they charge.

Chakrabarti throws stasis bubbles at the little ones and Hasani pops off shots while her drone ducks and weaves, making itself the target for the weird gloops the demons shoot. James trusts them to do their job so he can get on and do his. And his job right now is to roll out the way of a massive chain that comes crashing down. A fucking chain? Who the fuck brings a chain to a fight? The ground rumbles, ominous like an earthquake and fuck, this rock better stay in one piece. Bull shouts a battle cry as he makes a running leap at the chain wielding pride demon, axe poised above his head. He brings it down on the demon’s flank and it howls, distracted, and James takes his opening, peppering it with firepower.

He’s having fun, he realizes as he lobs a grenade with a _take that, you bastard_. Hasn’t had fun like this in ages. Bull’s the perfect companion upfront, reading the field with an awareness for friendlies and foes, obstacles and opportunities. Maybe he has a home advantage with these demons, but James is willing to bet that if Bull went up against a unit of Blue Suns, he be the last one standing.

Out the corner of his eye he sees one of the little green ones fizzle and dissolve into bits. The bits swirl and spiral, coiling tight as they’re sucked in by the rift and then it’s gone. He has no idea what these things are composed of and he’s dimly aware of Hasani saying something about catching one of them alive, but by the time he goes to answer her, there’s nothing left. Just the rift and smoking, steaming remains.

James’ chest heaves as he catches his breath. He looks around. Over? Already?

“Got ‘em all, Boss,” Bull says from the far side of the rift. His voice is crushed gravel in James’ ear and he feels it in the pit of his stomach.

“Copy that.”

Hasani’s crawling around on her hands and knees, poking bits of goo and scooping up what she can. She’ll keep it all safe and secure, James hopes. Last thing he needs is for his whole fucking ship to be quarantined.

Chakrabarti toes something where the pride demon had fallen and calls Hasani over. James leaves them to it and jogs over to Bull. He’s close to the rift, under it almost, reaching up on tiptoes. He snaps back when he sees James approach and grins.

“Good fight, huh? Could do with you in my company.” He laughs. “Yeah, you’d make an excellent Charger. I’d call you… Brick. Or Beef. No, that’s too close to Bull. Space Man. Yeah, Space Man’s good.” He takes another glance at the rift and James thinks he catches a little melancholy in Bull’s expression. But it could be the light from the rift.

He rounds up his crew and calls Xiong. Done and dusted. And not even a scratch. Now that’s James’ kind of fight.

*

 

The best thing about fights is all the sweat and adrenaline, being hyper awareness. James is a tiger in a fight. Keen, alert, sleek. He lives for that shit, needs it. Helps him sleep at night. Having his own command, his own ship, means that he has even more control over how he fights. Sure he takes orders, gets sent where he’s needed, but he’s the one who gets to make the tactical decisions. That’s something he didn’t think he’d want again but Shepard, she not so much talked him into command as shoved him face first.

This worst thing about command is the paperwork. Holy hell, the paperwork. Not like every bullet has to be accounted for (only the biggies) but some reports seem to take longer to write than the actual time spent on fighting. And the shit that has to go into these things. Suit feeds, HUD feeds, vitals and blood pressure data, everything short of a hotwire straight in the brain. Knowing the Alliance that’ll be coming soon. All that along with his straight up retelling. Sometimes the words come easy, especially if it was a simple, well-orchestrated fight. Sometimes a report will sit half-finished for days. This report feels like a sitter and the fight wasn’t all that difficult. Explaining what the hell they were up against is the hard part. Who the fuck writes “Took down a pride demon using a mix of stasis, bullets, and a fucking big axe”? James scrubs his head and groans. Adrenaline high long gone and now he’s reduced to picking out each word with the agony and hissing that comes from pulling a splinter.

Coffee. He needs a fucking coffee.

Mess is quiet this time in the night-cycle. Small ship like this means they can run on just one shift. No skeleton crew needed, just the VI that’ll wake everyone up if shit goes down. Mess is quiet, but not empty.

Bull is there, sitting side on at the table, staring at a data pad. James watches him. For a guy who’s dropped in from another dimension, he sure has picked up on the tech pretty quick. Or, maybe not. James stifles a snort as Bulls turns over the data pad, only to turn it back again with a frown and swipe at the screen to access the next page.

“You enjoying watching the alien make a fool of himself?” Bull asks. He doesn’t look up.

James heats up, caught between the embarrassment of Bull’s words and his lack of subtlety. “Happens to the best of us,” he offers, heading for the coffee machine. He offers Bull a cup and gets a _yeah, thanks_ in reply.

James sits, silent, staring at the steam rising from his cup. Next time he’s Earth side, he’s gonna go to that cafe on base and ask that cute barista--the one with the dimples and brown eyes--for the biggest cup of joe they have. And a bag of beans to go with it.

“Being in command isn’t easy,” Bull says, apropos of nothing. He still doesn’t look up. “You know I got my own command back home. I’ve been wondering what’s happening. I miss those assholes.” He lifts his head from the datapad and for a second that sharp, grey eye is all milky and shot. Then it’s omniscient again. “You’re all wound up, right? Being the commander of this unit, looking after your boys, keeping them alive. It’s like herding cats sometimes. Then you found me and shit’s gone skyward.”

James grunts, shakes his head as he slurps his coffee. _Don’t you know it._ His report nags at him even from here. His orders to sit tight and make no outbound transmissions. The natural way Bull’s become a part of the team.

“You know,” There’s a casual lilt to Bull’s voice, “When the demands of command get to me, when I’m busting my boys’ balls for no good reason, I find myself someone who can fuck me so hard I can’t tell which way is up.”

James chokes on his coffee, thumps his chest as Bull chuckles, but even that’s too loud in the artificial night.

“Works for Xiong and Hasani,” Bull says. He winks, one eyed.

“Uh, what?”

“Your tech and your mechanic. They’re at it all. Night. Long. Seriously, you didn’t know?”

What the--Really? How did that one pass him by?

Bull laughs again, shaking his head. “Crap, you had no idea? Classic.”

James tries to wrap his head around this revelation. He can’t see it. They’re so different! Hasani’s cool and calm, big brains in a small package. Xiong’s the opposite. More like James in build and temperament. And they’re… together? Like, together-together? And it’s been going on right under James’ nose, for how long? He catches a tension of an unanswered question and looks at Bull.

“Huh?

Bull leans forward, keen and sharp, focus entirely on James, intense in the low light.

“All I’m saying is, I know what you’re going through. You want someone to ease those knots, just let me know.”

What the fuck? This can’t be happening. He’s being propositioned by the alien. A fucking alien. Xiong’s casual comment about Bull’s size and power rears its head, then the view James got when him and Hasani had stripped him settles in and it’s a good thing he’s sitting down ‘cause his legs have turned to jelly.

“Uh…” That’s all he can offer.

Bull gets up and pats him on the shoulder and it’s warm, heavy. Inviting. James wants to melt into that touch but then it’s gone. “Something to think about, that’s all. No pressure.”

And he’s alone in the mess with a cold cup of coffee and more on his mind than he’d like to think about.

*

The flop comes out and it’s a shit one. James growls his fold and chucks his cards down. Varis and Hasani follow. Chakrabarti raises and Xiong folds. Bull meets the raise with a casual flick of a chip. James props his elbows on the table as his interest perks up. Bull and Chakrabarti have been at it the whole game. One-upping each other, trash talking--turns out Bull’s real good at the trash talk. Bull’s good at getting a rise where an insult thrown at him just slides right off. James eyes one, then the other. He’s on edge, feeling something rough under the surface. For all the shit-talking, Chakrabarti’s shouts are a little to barbed, his insults a little too pointed. James doesn’t wanna step in, especially during down time, but he will if he has to.

The cards are shown and Chakrabarti laugh is mean and derisive. Wasn’t even that good a hand but he’s bragging like he won the Galaxy Poker Tour or some shit. Bull congratulates him, good natured, but Barry’s still in his face.

“Suck on that, alien scum! Yeah, that’s right. We’ll show you who’s the superior species in this galaxy.”

There’s a gasp from the other crew and an awkward silence. Bull raises his eyebrow, patience wearing thin. Varis catches James’ eye and conveys with a glare just what James has already decided on.

“Hey, Barry. Keep it civilized, huh? We’re just playing a little friendly poker.” James lets his commander tone drop in, a subtle warning that this isn’t a democracy.

Chakrabarti waves James off with his middle finger. “Yeah yeah, fuck you Commander. You’re just jelly that you finally got some competition.” He flexes his arms in mockery. Barry’s always been a bit of a prick, but a lovable prick. The kind that’ll rib you even during a firefight but’ll have your back, one hundred percent. He’s solid and dependable, makes a great N. But he won’t be making it to 5 if keeps up with this shit.

Xiong shuffles in silence, her scowl speaking for them all. There’s just the hum of the ship and Chakrabarti's incessant clicking of chips and it's like nails down glass. Yeah, he’s a prick but he’s not this much of a prick.

Shit cards again. James folds. Varis, Xiong, Hasani fold. Bull stares at Chakrabarti’s hand, like he can peer right through and see what he’s got. His eye flicks up to Chakrabarti’s face and that concentration doesn’t change. Chakrabarti’s attention is all on his cards, grinning like a lunatic, laughing. No attempt at hiding his tells. Or maybe this is a new strategy he’s trying out before he hits the Silversun next leave. It’s a shit strategy, if that’s what it is. Bull folds.

“Too good for you, alien? Can’t hack it, can you?” Chakrabarti points an accusing finger at the rest of his crew. “You’re all fucking shit compared to me. You know that? I am the _king_ of this game”

“That’s enough, Chakrabarti.” James clenches his fists and grinds his teeth.

Hasani pushes her chair back with a screech. Her face the picture of disgust and she storms out of the mess. Xiong’s halfway out her chair too when Chakrabarti starts laughing. Barking more like. James is up, gonna yank Barry out of that chair and send him down to the bay for a time out. He grabs Barry’s upper arm, ready to haul him down there when he’s flung back with an electric surge. Not biotics. Or, biotics tinged with something else. James regains his balance and Bull’s there, he’s got Chakrabarti by the throat, feet dangling a good half meter off the ground. Chakrabarti’s sparking blue and struggling, his hands on Bull’s arm trying to dislodge him, trying to breath and hacking out a laugh at the same time. Then he flickers. Like, actually flickers in and out of existence but he’s still clamped in Bull’s meaty grip. He laughs again, but its low and James feels the rumble all around.

“Fucking demon!” Bull yells. He’s got his other hand on Barry’s head and he looks like he’s about to tear it right off.

“Bull! Don't kill him.”

Chakrabarti’s lips are tinged with blue and his eyes--they were bulging but now they’re black. The whites are black and James knows that’s not a symptom of suffocation.

“We gotta kill it,” Bull growls. Then he pleads. “Let me kill it.”

Chakrabarti’s fingers transform into talons, thick black spikes that tear at Bull’s arms. Bull doesn’t let go. His muscles cording even as they’re ripped. He shrieks and its inhuman, no, it’s not Bull, it’s Chakrabarti and he’s flopping like a fish till he’s not and he’s still and fuck, did Bull just kill him? Bull drops him. Hasani’s darted back from wherever, on her knees beside Chakrabarti. James sees the puncture wound in Barry’s side and puts two and two together. Hasani tranqued him and now he’s out.

Bull’s bellowing for potions as blood drips from his arm and there’s a smear of white that’s gotta be bone amongst the shredded flesh, but Hasani saves the day _again_ by chucking one of those red vials at Bull. Xiong’s at his side too, smearing medigel in and wrapping the wounds in gauze.

Satisfied that Bull’s alright for the moment, James turns his attention to Chakrabarti. “How longs he gonna be out for?” James asks Hasani.

“Don’t know, sir, but we should isolate him.”

James is all for that and hauls Chakrabarti over his shoulder. The whole crew follow him down to the cargo bay and with help from Xiong, James gets Chakrabarti strapped down in Bull’s old stretcher. They close the doors and retreat to just outside. Too scared to go too far in case he gets loose.

“What the fuck happened? He’s a… a demon? How the fuck does that happen?” He’s stage-whispering, paranoid that Chakrabarti’ll overhear him through three layers of reinforced alloy and plate steel.

Hasani clears her throat with a guilty cough. “He might’ve picked something up from the asteroid, sir. He was helping me catalogue the finds and might’ve gotten a little too close to something.”

James raises his eyebrow. There’s a story there but it can wait. He turns to Bull. “What do we do now?” he finds himself wishing his pastor was here. He’d know what to do. He was good with the fire and brimstone shit.

“We kill it,” Bull says.

“How do we kill it if it’s inside Barry?” Hasani asks.

Bull folds his arms and levels her with a glare. “It _is_ Barry now. Or, Barry’s it. Comes to the same thing either way…”

The crew stare at each other wide eyed, true horror dawning on them.

“We’re not killing him! There has to be another way.”

Bull shrugs. “When it comes to demons, I’m more of a kill first, don’t bother asking questions kind of guy.”

James sinks his face into his hands. This can’t be happening. Demon possession. Why does the worst shit always happen on his watch?

“Wait! Bull, you’ve got that demon-slaying rune on your axe. Can we use that somehow?” Hasani presses her fingers to her temples, scrunches her face up as she walks in tight circles. James hopes to all fuck that she has an idea. “Can we lure the demon inside an amp then _slam_ it with the rune.” She demonstrates the slamming with a karate chop against her palm.

James doesn’t want to be the dumb one but the others all busy doing their best guppy impersonations so he asks the question: “You’re going to have to explain that.”

Hasani’s in her element, pacing up and down, gesticulating, eyes bright. “Our biotics and Bull’s wizards operate in a similar way. Biotics create and manipulate mass effect fields from the eezo in their nervous systems but it’s their _amps_ that really gives them control over how they wield that power. Bull, your wizards sound similar. Their magic is embedded within their bodies and they can do simple spells with little effort, but to really focus, they need something to channel their magic through something. Their staffs act in the same way as a biotic’s amp does, amplifying and focusing the flow and direction of the spell. But, unlike a wizard’s staff, the biotic’s amp is _inside_ their body. I take the rune, integrate it with an amp, shove it in Barry’s port--”

Bull interrupts. “Someone taunts him, he activates his biotics--”

“--and _bam_ , demon slaying rune goodness surges through him, killing the demon and… hopefully leaving Barry unharmed.”

James stares at Hasani and Bull. They both look manic, mad scientists itching to create. He pictures Tesla coils crackling with lightning and rabbits with cats heads bouncing around. He turns to Varis, his expression asking the question for him.

Varis shrugs, one shouldered. “I say we give it a shot. What’s the worst that can happen? We were already going to have to space him.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to do an exorcism.” Xiong whispers. “This is so _fucking cool_.”

Hasani claps her hands. “It’s settled then. Bull, bring your axe and meet me in the med bay. We have hacking to do.”

They brush past him, Varis and Xiong too, heading for the lift. James puts up his finger to protest.

“Wait, we can’t--”

But the doors are shut and he’s left standing there, his objection dying on his lips. He snaps his mouth shut and turns to the cargo bay door, pressing his ear up to it. Not like he could hear anything anyway but humans are creatures of habit. He resigns himself to watch duty, brings up the security feed on a nearby terminal, and waits for Hasani to do her thing.

*

Xiong comes down after a while. Only so much gun polishing she can do, she says. She offers to relieve James but he's got nothing better to do either so they guard the cargo bay door together. This is James’ fourth tour with Xiong and he likes to think he's got a good handle on how she ticks. She's like him in many ways. Big, tattooed, loud. Fiercely dedicated to protein intake and exercise regimes. He could have asked her anything. What she thought about Bull, Hammerheads, Makos, the banning of gene mods at the professional biotiball level. Instead, he goes with, “So, you and Hasani? You, uh, been together a while then?” And regrets it immediately.

“Together? Fuck no,” she says. For a second he thinks Bull got it wrong. “Ours is a purely physical appreciation.”

Uh, right.

“She's got a way with words like you wouldn't believe. And holy moly when she lets her hair down…” Xiong’s eyes take on a glassy, faraway look. “The things she can do with omni.” She whistles low and James again wishes he’d never asked.

Luckily he's rescued from an in depth description of Hasani’s bedroom tech applications when the woman herself pings his omni.

“We're ready, Commander. Want to come and suit up?”

James leaves Xiong to guard the door and fantasize.

The plan is for Bull and James to go in there, taunt Chakrabarti’s demon and keep it distracted so Hasani can sneak around and pop in the new amp. Simple. Clean.

James claps his hands. “All right, let’s do this.”

Xiong opens the cargo bay doors and locks it behind them. James feels the click deep in his guts. Varis has his orders: shit turns south, he spaces the cargo bay. James and Hasani’ll live. Bull and Chakrabarti? He looks up at the security camera briefly before turning his attention to the strapped down and now thrashing Chakrabarti.

“Easy, Barry, easy. Just us. You know me, right?” James knows his voice will sound distorted through his helmet but he hopes that his figure will be recognizable at least.

A deep inhuman growl reverberates through the bay and James hunts for the source till he realizes it’s coming from Chakrabarti.

His squad mate surges and struggles against the straps, teeth bared in an etching of pure, blind rage. He’s not himself. He’s someone terrifying and James can’t stand to see his asshole friend like this. He keeps up the placating words while keeping his Avenger handy. Bull keeps his distance, axe ready while Hasani goes left, creeping up Chakrabarti’s flank. She’s nearly in Chakrabarti’s blind spot when a blood curdling scream rips through the air. The straps holding Chakrabarti down tear and crack as his body transforms, chest blowing up like a spiky purple balloon, arms like tree trunks. His mouth opens wide, shrieking, distorted. The tendons in his neck pop and pull and his jaw cracks ever wider, ever louder until it's not Chakrabarti’s head any more, but a heaving, black eyed monster.

It swoops around, arms grabbing for James but he dives out of the way in time. No such luck for Hasani. She’s caught in one of those massive taloned hands, her whole body, picked up. She yells, slashes with her omni-blade and a drone pops out of nowhere to pepper the monster with firepower. Nothing more than damaging than little bb pellets. A distraction. If the monster dies, Chakrabarti dies.

The drone ducks out of the way of the monster’s other hand and fires a volley at the head. Wrong move. The monster cackles, taunting and switches its focus from Hasani to the drone. Only it doesn’t drop Hasani. It flings her across the bay, hurling her so hard that when she crashes into the wall, the hull bends. All hell breaks loose in James’ HUD. Lights flashing, warnings blaring. He shuts them up but notices a couple of red lights lowering to amber as Hasani’s suit starts its auto repair and first aid dispensing. He switches his focus from her to the amp jack by her side. He has to get that fucking thing but he’s gonna have to cross paths with the monster to do it.

“Commander, I’ll tank,” Bull yells as he bounds past James, axe poised.

James dives, taking advantage of Bull’s distraction--which from the wailing and shrieking seems to be working--and scoops up the amp as he lands. He’s beside Hasani, right beside her, painfully aware of the damage she’s sustained. He doesn’t have time though, if he had one more squad mate then he could get her out of there. But all he’s got is Bull on point and Varis with his finger on the button.

Bull’s taking heavy hits but he laughs, wild, taunting, at each punishing blow. James presses his advantage, scooting along the cargo bay wall till he’s behind the monster. He looks up and to his massive relief, he sees the amp port undistorted, way high up on the base of the demon’s neck. Now he just has to get up there. Fuck.

“Come at me, you bastard,” Bull shouts, followed by a string of words in his own language. Whatever he does works, has the demon bearing down, bending low. James doesn’t think twice. He jumps, grabbing onto one of the spikes and hauling himself onto the beast’s back. It figures out he’s there and starts shaking like a wet dog but James grits his teeth and digs his boots in. The demon wails. Bull taunts the thing again and its focus turns to the other alien in the room.

“Sorry Barry. I’ll buy you a massage from that asari when all this is over.” There’s bits of uniform scattered about, stuck to spines and warts. James shudders as he climbs past.

 _You think you’ve earned your place, do you Vega? You think you deserve to be N7?_ The voice comes from everywhere, bouncing of the walls, seeping through James’ helmet. _You earned Shepard’s respect but you don’t believe her, do you? You think you can never be as good as her. I can_ make _you as good as she was. Better. All you have to do is--_

No. No fucking way. This thing can’t know him. Not even Chakrabarti knows James like this. No one does. James clings onto the spines and squeezes his eyes shut, but the voice is still there, louder, taunting him. “You hear that, Bull?”

Bull’s panting, grunting, but he gets in a few words. “It says what you want to hear. Keep fighting.”

He’s been fighting his whole life. That’s how he feels. But not with his fists. His self-doubt. His ego. His pride. Long forgotten memories are dredge to the surface. The kitchen of his abuela and James, little James but still a big boy for his age, covered in flour and eggs beaming with pride as that tiny wrinkly old woman tells him these are the best tortillas she’s ever had. Older James with Uncle Emilio catching the biggest wave ever, riding it all the way, hooting and cheering. He’s the best. No one is as good as James Vega.

 _Focus_. He shakes his head, Uncle Emilio and his abuela reluctantly fading away. He’s aware of a friendly dot on his HUD and focuses enough to see that it’s the drone, or a new one, darting around. Then his eye catches on Hasani’s vitals and sees a couple of greenlights among the amber and red. Conscious. Thank fuck. Bull though, Bull’s suffering under the strain. James can feel it in the way the demon thrashes and cackles, like it knows it's getting the upper hand and that spurs James on. One more spine to grab and he’s there, high enough to slam the port home. It slides in and--

The demon shudders. James nearly loses his grip and then it’s shrinking, shrieking as its spines retract. They under his feet give way completely and he’s hanging by one hand till he allows himself to drop. He lands on the deck, hard, and starts to see some semblance of Chakrabarti in the demon’s features.

“Barry!” he shouts. “Go blue!”

The demon rears its head, turns to James. He watches, fascinated and horrified as the demon’s face surges and shifts. A peek of a brown eye, dark skin, half a lip. Slowly, slowly Chakrabarti gains the upper hand, the cries more human, the arms less purple until his whole ugly, terrifying body is wrapped in electric blue waves. He rises off the ground and snaps in a brilliant explosion of white light. James is flung backwards, skidding to a halt against the wall. Bull lands near him and has blood seeping from a wound on his chest and pouring out his nose. He waves away James’ concerns as he chugs down one of those vials of red goo.

The silence doesn’t register immediately. Only when James thinks he should be hearing something, anything, does he realize he’s not. He smacks the side of his helmet, over his ear and ascertains that he’s not busted an ear drum. A smack on the other side of his head from Bull sorts his ears out and has him looking in the right direction. Chakrabarti’s prone on the floor, one leg bent unnaturally at the knee, naked and dappled with sweat.

“Barry.” James crawls forward. “Fucking come on you bastard, talk to me.”

A groan, a blink, a hacking cough that has Chakrabarti rolling onto his knees. Spit and vomit and finally, acknowledgement. His eyes are bloodshot but James can see the spark.

“Did you just--” Chakrabarti chucks up again as Bull throws a blanket over his back. “Did you fucking exorcise me? You a fucking priest as well as a hardass, Commander?”

James laughs, glad to have his friend back. Until Varis pipes up and tells him Xiong’s coming in and he should really go see to Hasani.

Hasani. Fuck. He staggers over to her and she gives him a thumbs up just as she slips back into unconsciousness.

*

Once again the med bay is crowded but the mood is one of celebration. Chakrabarti’s on one bed--dressed now--chugging another of Bull’s mystery potions. James cringes, knowing that all of Bull’s possessions are supposed to be kept in isolation for Alliance study. So much for that. The pies are already gone and fuck knows how many potions Bull put away during the last few fights. The rune is fried, according to Bull, who looked sadly on the burned out amp. Only things of Bull’s left for the Alliance to pick over are the stones and the man himself.

Hasani’s on the other bed, bruised but laughing, gasping as Varis replays the whole fight, his accent getting thicker and thicker as his voice pitched higher and higher. Xiong’s perched on the edge of Hasani’s bed. They're not touching, and James knows that even if whatever they've got’s only physical, love runs deep between this crew. Between all of them.

Bull slipped out some time earlier and James wishes he was still here to celebrate the victory with the rest of his team. Because that’s what he is. He’s a part of this team now. He’d make a good N7, James thinks and for a moment he can see Bull in Alliance uniform, cigar jammed between his teeth, mentoring young Ns with a mix of good natured drill sergeant yelling and comforting haranguing. But that’ll never happen. That’s not Bull’s fate. A lump forms in James’ throat and a pang of sadness pierces his chest. He’ll take what moments he can and commit them to memory. Alliance’ll never be able to take those away from even once Bull is long gone. Chakrabarti shouts out some rude joke that’s more in keeping with his personality and James is laughing again but with a hollow edge. He’s still wound up. From the fight--fights--from the mission and the waiting. He’s gonna need a fucking decent shore leave after this. Beach, he thinks. White sand, hot sun, hotter women. Yeah, that’s what James needs. A little R ‘n R.

*

Hours later James slinks into his cabin, relishing the thought of sleep but knowing it will be an uphill fight. He scrubs at his eyes, unable to focus on the pad in front of him. He thumps the door closed behind him and throws the pad to the side.

“Hey.”

He jerks up to see Bull sitting on his cot.

“So, today was pretty crazy and you look like you’re about to snap. My offer the other night? Still stands. But if you’re not interested, tell me to fuck off and I will, no hard feelings.”

”I, uh. That’s…” His brain has shut up shop and his heart’s stuck on an out of control hamster wheel.

“That’s not an answer.” Bull rises from the bed and stalks over to James. James gulps. He sees just how tall Bull is, how big he is. How muscular and thick and dominating and fuck he shouldn’t be reacting this way.

“You want to let go and let someone else be in charge for a while?”

James nods. Almost sags with relief. He knows exactly what he’s doing even though a little--annoying--voice tells him he should kick Bull out, pop a sleeping tablet and go to bed. But. But he’s just lived through the demon possession of one of his crew. A real fucking demon and he hasn’t been this wound up since the reaper war and even then he had someone to talk shit through with. Esteban or Shepard. Kaidan, even. He knows how Shepard felt, recognizes the loneliness of command. But he’s not alone. Not now. He meets Bull’s eye, has to look up to do so, and nods again. Why the fuck not? It’s what Xiong and Hasani are probably doing right now.

“You sure?”

James works his mouth, gets out a dry, “Yes.”

He’s pinned to the wall before he knows what’s happening. Arms above his head, wrists crossed and trapped under one of Bull’s hands, lifted so he’s on tip toes. Bull leans in low, so close James feels Bull’s breath on his cheek. He can see the scars lining Bull’s leathery face, the creases around his eye. He smells musky, masculine. Bull hums, low and throaty and James sags. He lets himself go, trusting himself to whatever this is, this moment, this need. Bull takes his weight like it’s nothing, and tells him to enjoy the ride.

*

There’s a beach with white sand, empty except for one blue and yellow striped umbrella far in the distance. Bull’s sitting under it--James can see the horns. There’s a woman with him. She sits with all the arrogance and confidence of a leader and James knows without seeing that she’ll have red hair. James runs towards them but the faster he runs, the further away they are. He runs and runs in the baking heat, reaching out for Bull, for Shepard. Just a little more--

“Commander. Come on Commander Vega. Wakey wakey rise and shine.” A disembodied voice speaks to him from the ceiling.

“Fuck off,” James mumbles. He shoves his pillow over his head and tries to get back to the beach.

Varis has other ideas. “The fleet’s through the relay. ETA three hours.”

Fuck. _Fuck_.

He sits up. He’s alone, thank fuck for small miracles.

His muscles pull and twinge as he stretches, but in a good way. Like he’s done a real good workout. He allows himself the luxury of a seven minute shower, fingers lingering where Bull’s had been. No. Now is not the time for fond memories. Later.

Fleet means dress blues. Pulling them on is an effort but he has to admit, he does look fucking great. A real commander with the medals and scars in case anyone needed proof.

He yawns as he wanders through to the cockpit, vaguely wondering where everyone is. Especially Bull. He’s not sure he’ll be able to look him in the eye. He practices schooling his expression so no one get tipped off. He’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.

Varis shoots him a sympathetic and apprehensive look then nods behind. James follows his nod. His good mood evaporates. The Alliance flotilla’s right out the window. He can see the port holes on the dreadnought and they’re passing by so close he thinks he could wave and be seen.

“What the fuck happened to three hours?”

Varis shrugs, all angles. He’s pissed too. “First they said three hours, next thing they’re announcing docking procedures. Maybe they want to catch us off guard.”

 _Fuck fuck, fuck._ Feels like the deck’s opened up under him and he’s in free fall, stomach lurching in all directions and thank fuck he hasn’t had any breakfast.

“No need to panic, Commander. We got everything under control. Bull’s down in the cargo bay, locked up and sitting pretty. Xiong and Barry are guarding him like good little soldiers. Hasani’s… right behind you.”

James turns and Hasani smiles tight, hands behind her back. She’s looking sharp in her blues, boots shining. Her hair’s pulled back into a smooth, tight bun. Right now she’s the poster girl for the Alliance and James is...

“You look… well rested, sir.”

“Thanks, that’s really fucking great to hear.” Panicking. He’s panicking. He needs to sort his crew out and see Bull, give him a run down--

Hasani clears her throat for a chastising rebuke.

“Sir, we’ve been ready for the fleet for two weeks, demons notwithstanding. Med bay’s all in order. Specimens labeled, categorized and packaged. Bull is in confinement, went willingly. He knows the score and he’s going to play along. So are Xiong and Chakrabarti. We… we want the best for him, sir.”

Okay. Okay, that’s good. Everything is under control because James has the best crew.

Over the ship wide comm, Varis announces three minutes to docking. From where James is standing, he hears it twice, voice tinny and voice with bass. Then it’s just Varis chatting with the pilot from the dreadnought. Pilots; always so casual when maneuvering massive flying chunks of metal, no big deal.

The tone shifts from breezy to apprehension. Beside James, Hasani’s preening. He ignores her and concentrates on the door, fingers twitching to salute. He still doesn’t know who to expect but he’s gonna make a good impression.

The VI makes a polite announcement and the doors cycle open.

Hackett. Fucking Hackett. He should’ve retired by now, if not be dead.

A woman James doesn’t recognise. Her uniform is white and dark green, makes her sciences, R&D. The poker and prodder then. James swallows a bitter lump and gives her a passing glance. And--that’s it? Just the two of them? No other scientists or admirals? No Riley? That’s either a good sign or the fucking worst. Most likely the latter.

James snaps a salute, as does Hasani. He hears the click of boots behind him and knows Varis has hauled his ass out of the pilot’s chair too.

“Welcome aboard SSV Vespa, Admiral.”

“Commander Vega.” Hackett nods once, holds his hand out to introduce the science nerd. “This is Doctor Emma Bishara. She’s read your reports with great interest and looks forward to meeting the extra-galactic and examine the inconsistency up close.”

 _His name is Bull and he’s not for you._ James clenches his jaw and acknowledges her presence with a nod.

“I would like to examine the extra-galactic immediately, if it pleases you.” Posh as fuck voice and all polite. Like James has a say over what pleases him.

“This way ma’am, sir.”

He leaves Varis to return to the cockpit and leads Hackett and Dr. Bishara through to the cargo bay. Hasani brings up the rear.

Chakrabarti and Xiong look suitably custodial and don’t stand down when the group approaches. Hackett may be an admiral but he’s too far up the chain for these two. Their commander’s who’ll they listen to.

Bull sits on the edge of his cot, omni-cuffed hands on his lap. He’s changed back to his worn leather boots and torn clown pants. He plays up the role of savage well, looking like a dumb, cornered animal. James passes his two guards a glance, communicating the best he can for them to keep it zipped and they return with a twitch of the eyes and lips to indicate that they’re gonna play along.

“He’s docile. No signs of violence.” Talking about Bull like he can’t understand a word is grating.

“Apart from his initial attack.” Dr Bishara’s talking to herself. She’s already pursing her lips and peering at Bull like he’s modern art.

James stands by Hackett and the doctor as make their inspection of Bull. Tension coils in his gut. His jaw clenched. Body a coiled spring.

“I’d like to examine the EG alone, please.” Damn she’s patronizing.

Cold fear runs through James. He can’t leave Bull with her. Just can’t. “I don’t recommend that, ma’am. He’s--”

“I’ll be fine.”  Sickly sweet and all rotten. She waggles her fingers and a bolt of biotics zings over her body, encapsulating her in blue. _Shit, lady. You wanna piss him off?_

“Leave her to it,” Hackett says.

James shoots Bull an apologetic grimace and hopes the curve of his eyebrows convey the message that James’ll bust him out if he has to. Bull looks back with a dumb cow eye and holds James’ attention long enough to make his heart flip.

*

Drives him crazy not being there. He manages to pass Hackett off to Hasani so she can talk about the rift, or ‘inconsistency’ as Hackett calls it, then he joins Chakrabarti and Xiong in comms to loosen collars, bitch and watch the security feed from the cargo bay.

“You slept late,” Xiong says. It’s a loaded question. James checks her out from the corner of his eye. She’s watching the feed, but she’s no idiot. He wants to snap back something about her and Hasani, but that’ll be a dead giveaway so he keeps his trap shut.

Dr Bishara talks to Bull but she’s muted. James goes off her body language instead. Head tilted, eyes narrowed. Index finger tapping her pouty bottom lip when she thinks. One arm cocked on her hip, then over her chest when Bull leans and scratches his armpit.

Bull looks unimpressed. Or tired. He sits on the edge of the cot, wrist and ankle cuffs in place, just to keep up appearances. Though James’ been in enough fights to know that cuffs like that on a guy like Bull won’t be much of a deterrent if he wants to cause trouble. He’s got those fucking horns for one thing. But he’s quiet, opens his mouth and says ‘ahh’ when asked, doesn't blink when the doctor shines a bright light in his eye. Could be getting a physical. Could be getting a pass to join James’ crew. Non-com of course, but still.

But he’s not gonna join.

“What d'ya think’ll happen to him now?” Chakrabarti asks.

James’ asking himself the same question. He shrugs, despondent. The counter’s reaching zero so if James is gonna do something stupid, he’s gotta do it soon.

“I kinda like the guy. Good at poker. And in a fight too, I suppose.” Chakrabarti pauses on the last syllable. James waits. “So, I never actually apologized for being an asshole the other day. At poker. I didn’t--wasn’t myself but still, no excuse. And then with the whole possession thing… Sorry about that.”

Pride swells in James’ heart. This little shit of a guy, a powerful biotic, so smart, but with a tongue like a viper, he’s growing up. James grins and shoves his shoulder against Chakrabarti. Xiong shoves him from the other side. He’s good. They’re good.

*

Dr Bishara says the EG is fascinating and she looks forward to investigating his capabilities in her fully equipped lab back on Earth. Right now, she wants to go see the inconsistency. Hackett too. James again gets out of having to play tour guide, Hasani clearly excited and more than capable of taking them out.

At least James gets a kick out of seeing the doctor struggle into her suit. Clearly lab based. But he’s nothing if not a gentleman so he helps her out since Hackett and Hasani are busy with their own suits.

Xiong flies them out and James sprints to Bull. Doesn’t bother saying _hello_ or even _thanks for last night, we should do it again sometime_. He just starts talking.

“This is all gonna go south real soon. You’re gonna be out of my hands. She’s gonna take you away. She’s a real piece of work, that one. Hot as fuck but don’t be fooled. She’ll take you away and lock you up and fuck knows--”

“James, hey. Easy big guy.” James. Not Boss or Commander. Bull puts his hand on James’ chest, right in the middle, and takes a deep breath. James does the same. Slowly, slowly as they breath out, the fog of panic lifts, leaving clear, calm reason.

Bull shifts his hand to James’ shoulder. “You’re an intelligent guy. You’ll think of something.”

James nods. “Yeah, yeah, I am, right? Intelligent. I’ll think of something.” Bull’s already convinced of his mental powers so all he’s got to do now is convince himself. And come up with a plan.

“So, how are you today?” Bull asks.

The question pulls James out of fantasies involving grenades and rocket launchers and right back into last night. He nods again, with a tilt. Yeah, yeah, so so. He shrugs, says he’s had better and for a second Bull looks like he’s been punched by a lemon, but James smirks. Bull sees the joke and smirks too, and in that moment James knows what he needs to do. He’ll do it alone if he has to, if his crew decide to quietly mutiny, and he wouldn’t blame them if they did.

*

The airlock shuts behind Hackett and Dr Bishara with a sigh. James wastes no time hustling his crew into the mess. He lays out the situation, short and sweet.

“Anyone who wants to join me in busting Bull out of here can come down to the cargo bay.” He doesn’t wait to check their expressions. He just turns and leaves.

Down in the cargo bay, Bull’s playing solitaire on his cot and humming to himself. James takes a seat on a crate and watches. There’s still so little he knows about Bull, so many more questions he wants to ask. But time is running out. Has run out. The doors whoosh open and he snaps up, Chakrabarti comes through. He takes a seat and keeps the quiet. Varis and Xiong come in together. Xiong's lips are set in a thin line. Her broad shoulders curled. They had an argument then. Wonder if Hasani will come down at all. He’ll wait. She has to join them. She’s family and family stick together.

Bull has a good run and piles a heap of clubs on top of each other. What card games does Bull play back home? Maybe the deck is similar with the same kind of feudalism dictating the face cards. Maybe they have something completely different.

Two more minutes tick by and Hasani’s still not here. Maybe she’s selling them out right now. Would be trivial with Varis out of the cockpit. Comms would be all hers.

But the bay doors slide open and Hasani strides in, head high, jaw set. James smiles but she doesn’t smile back. He offers her a seat but she stands, arms crossed. Fine. She’s pissed. That’s fine. She’s here.

James clears his throat and makes sure he has everyone’s attention. Four pairs of eyes and one on its own stare back, a mix of hope, challenge, curiosity.

“We’re here because we’re gonna bust Bull out of here. If the doctor gets her hands on him then he’s gone, locked up under guard in some no name, off-the-radar R and D facility. We’re not gonna let that happen.”

“So what do you propose, sir?” Hasani’s contempt knocks James off balance. “Chuck him in the shuttle and program the auto pilot? Where’s he going to go that the Alliance won’t be able to go too? Don’t say Omega.”

“Uh…” Damn, that pretty much was his plan.

“Illium?” Varis suggests.

“Earth. Alliance ain't likely to look right under their sniffers,” Xiong says. “Lots a weirdos living in New Kowloon City, or others like it. People are the law there. No Alliance, no Council.”

“How the _fuck_ do we get him there without the Alliance arresting us all or blowing us the fuck up, huh?” Hasani spits the question at Xiong. The glower and frustration tell James that this is an argument they’ve had before. “I want to do what’s right for Bull, too, but this? This is fucking crazy!”

“Uh, guys. As much as I’d love to tour your beautiful galaxy, I’d really like to just go home.” All eyes turn to Bull like they’d forgotten he was there.

“How?” Doesn’t matter who asks the question. They’re all thinking it.

“I go through the rift.” Bull shrugs one shouldered. “It’s how I ended up here in the first place.”

Hasani’s so red she looks like she’s about to vent steam through her ears. “You mean to tell us that you could have gone back to Thedas any time you wanted? What the fuck didn’t you go back when we went to deal with those demons? You were right there!”

“I couldn’t reach.”

“You couldn’t reach.”

“Yeah. Rift was up too high. Anyway, you guys have been fun. I didn’t want to leave when I still had unfinished business.” Bull looks at James for that last part and James’ cheeks heat up. He won’t fucking blush though, won't allow it.

No one notices anyway. They’re all yelling at each other. Indignation, surprise, annoyance all at once. Through the noise James sees the solution clear as day. The rest pretty much writes itself.

He claps his hands and whistles, cutting through the shouts. “Hey, calm down. All we gotta do is get him down to the rift. Piece of piss for three Ns and the best damn pilots in the galaxy, no?”

Chakrabarti pipes up. “What about the rift? If Alliance sees Bull go through it, they’re gonna want to try sending someone or something through. This is the biggest thing to happen to humanity since the first first-contact. And the reapers. And probably some other once-in-a-lifetime events.” He trails off under the withering glare of Hasani.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll get the rift closed from my side,” Bull says. “My friend, the Inquisitor? Magical hand. Can close the rifts. When she closes on our side, it’ll close up on your side too. Probably”

That’s met with silence. For James at least, the reality of Bull leaving for good hits hard and hits deep. Then the reality of what they plan to do sets like concrete.

“You know this is career suicide stuff, right? We fuck this up and we’re done for. You prepared for that?” He eyes each of his crew and gets firm nods back. Except Chakrabarti. He grins.

“I’m no bald-ass baby, Commander.” He punches his fist. “Let's do this.”

*

Varis starts his part right away, hacking and slicing footage in and out of the past two weeks of security feeds. Hasani helps with the tech, faking time stamps and slipping them into the right spots. James tells them not to stay up too late but knows they’ll ignore him.

Xiong’s part starts tomorrow so she heads to bed.

James mills about in the mess, making a bedtime coffee and trying not think about what’ll happen if they fail--or worse, if they succeed but get caught--when Chakrabarti slinks in. James pretends to not pay him any attention but he’s watching out the corner of his eye as he lazily stirs his coffee. He looks… humbled. Not knocked down a peg or two but something more quiet, more personal. James passes the powdered milk jug and catches his eye with a fatherly smile.

Chakrabati’s quiet a few more moments. Then he says with all the quiet of a mouse, “I’m gonna miss Bull.” He stirs the lumps out of his coffee. “Maybe we should send him to Earth. Or we could all become pirates.” He laughs but there’s no mirth in it. “I… I apologized to him, too. Just now. For the demon thing. Had to, you know? Couldn’t let him go knowing I hadn’t said my piece. And then he said--he said a lot. Gave me a lot to think about. Command and leadership shit. He’s… he’s a smart cookie. We could learn a lot from him. The Alliance, too, but. He needs to go home.” He looks at James like he’s looking for permission, for agreement that they’re doing the right thing by Bull and humanity. James can’t answer that for Chakrabarti, but he knows the answer for himself.

He pats Chakrabarti on the shoulder. “You’re doing good, Barry. Keep it up.”

*

Hackett and Dr Bishara come back in the morning. James leaves Hackett with Varis and escorts the doctor to the cargo bay. Hasani’s there already, engaged in a silent but tense game of chess with Bull.

Bishara actually takes a step back when she sees Bull. “He plays chess?”

Hasani puts her index finger to her lips but otherwise ignores the doctor.

James whispers, “I’ll leave you to it,” and wanders over to the shuttle where Xiong’s pottering around inside, hammering and cursing. Satisfied that all’s in order, he returns to the cockpit to save Varis from Hackett.

Hackett takes James aside, wanting privacy. Comm room it is then. James stands at ease, schooling his features. Hackett paces, flicks his cap off and runs his hands through hair before coming to a standstill.

“I remember first contact. Humanity’s place in the galaxy was still in its infancy back then. Still is now. Our curiosity to explore and discover never weakens. We were activating relays with no thought as to what might happen or where they might go. The whole galaxy was ours.” He turns to James and those ice blue eyes stab though James’ resolve. “We’re now sitting on the biggest discovery since the Charon Relay. Right now no one, I repeat, no one outside of eight people know about this EG and the inconsistency. What we do with this news will make us or break us. You’re at the head of this, Vega. We play this right and you’ll be a household name.”

James doesn’t want to be a household name. Oh sure, he loves attention, but not that kind of attention. He saw what it did to Shepard. He doesn’t want that.

All the more reason not to fuck up.

*

Dr Bishara looks a little frazzled when she comes up from the cargo bay with Hasani. She’s full of wide eyed wonder and James suspects that like Hackett, she’s only just beginning to realize what she’s dealing with.

“I’d like to secure Bu--the EG as soon as possible.”

Hackett smiles. He looks like he’s committing murder when he smiles. “Any time you want, Doctor. Our facilities are ready.”

She wants to move him now. Like, right now. James’ heart hammers so hard he can hear it.

Hackett throws out a few orders through his omni before turning to James. “Vega, the doctor and I will return to the _Vinson_. You’re in charge of escorting the EG to the SSV _Kosciuszko_. They’ve got docking facilities so fly him in.”

Fuck, they’re handing this to him on a plate. He tries not to smile. Frowns instead and salutes. “I’ll organize my crew, sir.”

This is it. It’s happening. He makes the call over the public channel and hopes like fuck that the cards fall into place.

Hasani peels off, going to her station in the med bay. James picks up Chakrabarti and sends him straight to the shuttle.

He acts up the bodyguard. Not like it’s a foreign role to him, anyway. He goes through the motions of frisking Bull for the feed, knowing it’ll be poured over and over later. He’s got to get it right. Just the right amount of arrogance so it looks like he’s taken by surprise. Truth is, he’s caught with his pants down. Bull lands one on James’ cheek and then it's on. James staggers back, gets his guard up and hollers for back-up but Bull’s on him. He doesn’t hold back. He swings that fist at James and catches him in the ribs. James doesn’t have a chance to double over before the next hit comes. He’d fall to his knees if Bull wasn’t holding him up.

“This is gonna hurt a bit,” he says as punches James right on the nose. Blood starts pissing out and that lizard part of his brain is telling him to fight back, not to take this shit. But he grins instead, toothy and bloody. Bull grins back. “Want a black eye?”

James spits out a glob of blood. “How ‘bout two?”

Bull laughs loud and delivers a one-two that drops James to the floor. He kicks James in the ribs and _fuck_ , that one hurts. James groans, reaches out. “No more,” he splutters. He rolls onto his back and peers up through already bruising eyes. Bull looks down. That craggy face, that fucking pirate eye patch. Those horns. Those fucking horns.

“Hey, James. I’m gonna miss you. You're a great commander and a great guy. Don’t forget it.”

James croaks out a thanks and then Bull’s gone. He crashes, howls and roars his way to the shuttle. Xiong and Chakrabarti put up a fight and there’s a _bonnng_ like a pipe hitting a wall. The VI announces that depressurization will begin in thirty seconds and with a little more panicking than he’d like, James gets out of the cargo bay. The room depressurizes, the bay doors open, and the shuttle zips out.

The tears that mingle with the blood aren’t just from the pain.

*

James staggers to the cockpit to find it in pandemonium. Or maybe Varis is doing the best acting of his career. He’s yelling at five different people, getting orders from two and having those orders contradicted by another two. He takes a moment out of the orchestrated chaos to give James a wide grin and a thumbs up, then James stumbles to the med bay.

He’s more fucked than he thought was. He pops a couple of painkillers and wipes his face down so he can at least see the feed without a red tinge. Hasani’s supposed to be fixing him up but she’s glued to the feed. On screen the shuttle jerks and bobs with all the grace of a chicken crossing a road in heavy traffic.

It’s on an intercept path with an Alliance fighter but its trajectory is clear. The rift pulses and glows far below. All it has to do it get down there, get alongside.

“They won’t fire on it, will they? Hasani’s voice wobbles. She’s got more at stake than just getting Bull out.

“Better fucking not. That shuttle’s got my best pilot on it.”

“I heard that,” Varis says over the private comm.

The fighter is fast, gets up close, gets between the shuttle and the rift like it knows what’s going to happen. The shuttle dances a jig and James has to credit Xiong’s ability to fly like a lunatic. Unless she really did let Bull have a go at the controls. In which case, she’s crazy. The fighter dives in for a head-on but the shuttle drops like a stone, and the fighter scrapes along the roof instead. It falls straight to the rift, so fast that it has to be orchestrated and James hopes they’re strapped in tight ‘cause they gotta be breaking a G with a move like that. It slams to a standstill next to the rift and James cringes as Hasani winces. It stays there, hanging for two, four, seconds. It rocks side to side then the rift bursts bright, going supernova before shrinking, sparking, tendrils reaching out like its grasping to stay in this dimension but the pull from the other side is too tight. Green winks and fades till zip--gone.

The shuttles’ not finished though. It jerks a bit more before sending out a distress signal. It glides to the ground and sits, still. Alone on that rock and waits for reinforcements.

*

James leans on the door to his cabin, rolls in, rolls back over the door as it closes. Hangs his head low. Eleven hours of debrief mixed in with a grade A chewing out. Felt like an interrogation. Probably was, actually. Bright lights, no breaks. Just constant, incessant questions. Over and over again, the same ones. Hackett on one side, Dr Bishara on the other. But they couldn’t blame him or his crew. James did the right thing, anyway. He got Bull out and Bull got the rift closed. Done and dusted. New orders please.

So Bull’s gone. James’ got nothing to remember him by. His photos and vids yanked from his omni. All the security footage from the ship already transferred. He sits on his bed, heavy, creasing the sheets in his otherwise ship-shape cabin. But something’s off, out of order.

There, alone on his bedside table, sits a little stone mabari.

*

Bull’s head spins sideways. His body spins the other way. He lands with a thump, all the air knocked out of him with a breathy groan and when he opens his eyes, he sees the sky. The sweet blue sky! Then the Seeker. Right in his face, blocking out the sun. Her lips are moving but he can’t hear. She slaps him--hard--and oh, there’s the sound.

“Bull! Iron Bull are you okay?”

He groans.

Behind him, or above him--he’s not sure--the sounds of battle pierce his ears and muddle his attention. The Inquisitor, she’s doing that thing she does to the rift. He feels the crackle and zap of it closing and then she’s at his side.

“Hey Boss. You’re looking good.” His voice croaks and he licks his lips.

“Bull! Where were you? You were here, fighting that demon and then it… you got too close to the rift. Then you were gone! Through it! Where did you go?”

Bull eases himself up on his elbows. Cassandra, the Inquisitor both kneeling next to him. Cass offers a water skein and Bull drains it in one go. Then he turns and sees who he’s looking for on his blindside.

“Varric! Varric, fuck. Get your biggest book and sharpest quill.” He coughs and thumps his chest. “You’re gonna want to write this one down, trust me.”

**Author's Note:**

> November 2017 Update: There's a sequel! Diamondback & Demons, here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12655050


End file.
